


All Good Stories Have a Happy Ending

by bluevalentine69



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arthur is 41, Blow Jobs, Bottom Merlin, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Humor, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Merlin is 22, Merlin is a book nerd, Office Sex, Oxford, Top Arthur, Virgin Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 18:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluevalentine69/pseuds/bluevalentine69
Summary: Arthur Pendragon, Editor in Chief at Pendragon Publishing, is interviewing candidates for the position of his Editorial Assistant. Cue the entrance of a brilliant young Classical Literature Oxford graduate, who is not AT ALL what he's expecting. Like, REALLY not what he was expecting ...Arthur stood up as a tall, slender, dark haired man was ushered into the room. His white shirt was crumpled and had a coffee stain that looked like England on the front, and his bright green tie had snitches on it, for Christ’s sake. He glanced down at himself when he saw Arthur staring, gobsmacked, and flushed worriedly.“It was an eggnog latte,” he said by way of explanation, gesturing at the stain, “to give myself good luck, you know? But then there was a pigeon, and I bumped into it, and my Christmas coffee became more of a fashion statement than a seasonal hot beverage. I stood in a puddle afterwards too,” he lifted up his left leg and pointed to the wet bottom of his trousers, offering a shy, self-deprecating smile. When Arthur didn’t immediately reply he bit his lower lip and the tips of his ears went red. Arthur mentally slapped himself.“Mr Emryson,” he said calmly.





	All Good Stories Have a Happy Ending

 

_Early November_

 

Arthur Pendragon, 41, Editor in Chief for the Fiction department of Pendragon Publishing, rubbed his temples as he reviewed the diminishing stack of sub-standard CVs in front of him. His longstanding Editorial Assistant and good friend Gwen had committed the unforgivable crime of having (another) baby and finally leaving the publishing world for parenthood, forcing Arthur to waste precious time he could be reading manuscripts or meeting writers interviewing idiots for her replacement. HR had sent him the shortlisted CVs in advance, but given his schedule, he had to make do with a quick read through of each candidate’s CV two minutes before their interview. He wearily lifted the top CV from the pile and began a cursory scan. _Merlin Emryson. 22. First Class BA (Hons) Classical Literature, Corpus Christi College, Oxford University (Scholarship Student). Member of the Live’n’Kickin’ Poets Society. Contributing Literary Critic for the Oxford Student Paper. Summer work experience as a Library Assistant. Educated at Ealdor High School …_ Arthur raised his eyebrows at that; most candidates were privately educated, horrendously entitled rich kids, not the sort of people to come from tough, comprehensive, lower income backgrounds. There was a handwritten note from HR at the bottom of the CV … _Comes highly recommended by Sir Gaius Medici._ Arthur raised his eyebrows again. Gaius was an old family friend (his godfather, in fact), the Vice Chancellor at Corpus Christi College, a critically acclaimed and published academic, and the college Professor of English Literature to boot. Two raised eyebrows deserved a shot at least, Arthur mused. Placing the CV down he took a quick swig of tepid coffee, picked up his fountain pen, and buzzed through to his PA, Vivien, to send Merlin in. Minutes later there was an efficient tap at his office door.

“Come in,” Arthur said. Vivien appeared in the doorway.

“Merlin Emryson, Mr Pendragon,” she said politely, professional as always.

“Thank you Vivien.” Arthur stood up as a tall, slender, dark haired man was ushered into the room. Arthur raised his eyebrows for a third time. The man looked like a fey woodland creature; bright blue eyes, big ears, high cheekbones, cupid’s bow lips. His hair was positively _unruly_ , ruffled in a way that looked like he’d just slept with his head in a vacuum cleaner. His white shirt was crumpled and had a coffee stain that looked like England on the front, and his bright green tie had _snitches_ on it, for Christ’s sake. He glanced down at himself when he saw Arthur staring, gobsmacked, and flushed worriedly; this was definitely _not_ one of the Savoy Row rich kids.

“It was an eggnog latte,” he said by way of explanation, gesturing at the stain, “to give myself good luck, you know? But then there was a pigeon, and I bumped into it, and my Christmas coffee became more of a fashion statement than a seasonal hot beverage. I stood in a puddle afterwards too,” he lifted up his left leg and pointed to the wet bottom of his trousers, offering a shy, self-deprecating smile. When Arthur didn’t immediately reply he bit his lower lip and the tips of his ears went red. Arthur mentally slapped himself.

“Mr Emryson,” he said calmly, holding out his hand and trying to inject some normality back into the proceedings, “I’ve heard good things about you from Gaius.” Merlin positively beamed at that, his whole face lighting up like a child in sweet shop, and eagerly stepped forward to shake hands, before tripping over and catching himself on Arthur’s desk. Arthur grabbed his elbow to steady him. “Did you actually just trip over your own feet?” he asked incredulously. Merlin straightened himself, looking mortified.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “You can see why I’m drawn to books.”

“You can very much trip over books,” Arthur countered, perplexed. Merlin grinned.

“I can’t trip over _words_ ,” he said, a little more cheerfully, now that he’d recovered from his humiliating entry. He held out his hand. “Mr Pendragon.” Arthur took his palm and felt a jolt at the soft warmness of it, although Merlin’s grip was firm. _Quietly assured_ , Arthur decided. He gestured at the seat opposite him, having quickly acquired the strong suspicion that Merlin should spend as little time on his feet as possible. Merlin sat down gratefully, hands worriedly fiddling in his lap.

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?” Arthur said, leaning back casually, hoping to put the young man at ease. Merlin shifted forwards in his chair.

“Well I was born in Ealdor, you won’t have heard of it, it’s a tiny little village on the borderline of Wales, by the sea. My dad died before I was born but apparently he loved books - _loved books_ \- all the walls of our cottage are bookcases stacked from floor to ceiling with every book you can imagine … and so when I was little … well, all through my life, as it turned out … I’ve tried to work my way through the walls. It annoys mum no end, all the dust my book shuffling creates.” Merlin smiled at Arthur a little sheepishly. Arthur couldn’t help but smile back, charmed. “My school was quite small and most of the local kids were more into sea sports or football - which was obviously an impossibility for someone clumsy like me, I was incredibly unwelcome - ” Arthur snorted, “ - so stories became my whole life. I’ve known since I was about thirteen that I wanted to work in publishing, I wanted to find new stories and give them to the world, and that started with Oxford; I was lucky to get a scholarship there, because my mum couldn’t have afforded it otherwise.”

“I’m sure you deserved it,” Arthur said generously, feeling a strong desire to encourage the young man for reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom. Merlin blushed and looked down. “Why choose Pendragon Publishing over some of our rivals?” Merlin leant towards Arthur earnestly.

“Pendragon is the best,” he said categorically and without any hint of insincerity. “I’ve never wanted to work for one of the globals - Bloomsbury, Penguin, HarperCollins … they’re machines, they’re impersonal, they’re about making money fast and selling one hit wonders, blockbusters, sensations, nothing beautiful or clever or _enduring_ \- and the smaller, bespoke publishing houses? They tend to ‘specialise’ and that limits the scope for finding talent _drastically_. Take Mercia; far too narrow-minded, it’s all crime fiction, there’s no opportunity to really _explore_ the talent, the art that’s being produced _every day_ , so many people are writing stories, and they’re not given the audience they deserve. There’s so much hidden magic.” Merlin spoke quickly, animatedly, hands fluttering gracefully to accompany his passionate and eloquent speech, words tumbling forth in a startling display of honesty; Arthur could see why Gaius recommended him. Merlin was perhaps the most open person he’d ever met. “Pendragon’s different,” Merlin continued, seriously, eyes full of admiration as he gazed at Arthur, “ _you’ve_ made it different. You read _everything_ that you’re sent, you give _everyone_ a chance, you reward ingenuity and novelty, not the generalists who cater for specific genres or markets for capital gain - you find _actual_ storytellers. And your translations, your imprints are amazing too … your sister’s latest translation of Plato’s _Symposium_ under your Big Ideas imprint? It’s phenomenal. It’s so important that these texts aren’t lost; that they continue to be read. We live in a generation of people who are forgetting to read, to _think_. You’re keeping the thoughts alive, at least.” Arthur gave a small nod to acknowledge the compliment.

“Favourite book?” Arthur asked.

“ _The Magus_ ,” Merlin immediately replied. Arthur raised another eyebrow. Four within half an hour, but who was counting?

“If forced to segregate and specialise, favourite genre?” Arthur prodded, curious.

“Fantasy; adult fairytales, epic mythological adventures.” Merlin answered without hesitation.

“Feelings on post-modern narrative experimentation - Joyce or Beckett, say?”

“Writers who genuinely test the boundaries of storytelling, play with communication, try to create new lines and methods of understanding … they are to be congratulated. Writers who self-consciously use narrative deconstruction to incite intellectual criticism? The _worst_.” Arthur laughed outright at Merlin’s exaggerated eye roll.

“Well, Mr Emryson, I’m impressed. The job’s yours. Would you like me to get someone to escort you safely from the building, lest you cause yourself any harm on the way out?” Merlin’s whole face went pink, but his eyes crinkled happily and he shook his head, stumbling a little as he stood up.

“Thank you so much, sir, for the opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

 

*

_Mid November_

 

Two weeks later, Arthur’s office looked like a small tornado had torn through it. Merlin was the messiest person he’d ever come across. His desk in the corner of Arthur’s room was already overflowing with manuscripts, annotated in different coloured pens, marked with different coloured post-its … clearly there was some kind of crazy bonkers system in play, but it was utterly indecipherable to anyone who wasn’t Merlin. Then there were the empty coffee cups, the empty packets of sweets, the bowl full of marbles (seriously, why?), the pen pot full of novelty pens - plume quills, baguettes, bouncy frogs, pens that were actually rubbers - plastic toys from Kinder eggs - Arthur had to wade through the ocean of paper and debris to get to his own desk. Strangely enough, he didn’t mind. He’d quickly got used to coming in at 7am and finding Merlin already typing away at his desk, waving distractedly at Arthur as he worked on writing up his notes and recommendations from the manuscripts he’d finished reading at home the night before to send to Arthur. He rarely wore shoes in the office, padding around instead in mismatched cartoon socks. He left little gifts on Arthur’s desk whenever he could see that Arthur was stressed (usually after a meeting with his father, the now 65 year-old but indomitable CEO of PP), like homemade ginger nut cookies (he’d asked Arthur what his favourite biscuit was and the next day - homemade baked goodness). His fingers were always pen stained, as was his shirt, but he worked hard, and was exceptionally clever; Arthur agreed with almost everything he recommended. It was rare for people to make an impression on Arthur, but Merlin certainly had, and he was oddly fond of the boy.

On the third Friday night it got to 8pm and Merlin was still typing away at his desk, chewing on the end of a fuchsia pink ballpoint. Arthur stretched and started to pack his briefcase with manuscripts to read over the weekend.

“What are you still doing here, Merlin?” Arthur asked. “It’s Friday. Please go and have some fun with your friends, you’ll make me feel like a slave driver.” Merlin turned round, pen in mouth, and then plucked it away with a flourish and smiled.

“That’s okay, I don’t know anyone in London. And I enjoy working anyway.” He turned back to his computer and carried on with his notes, socked feet curled beneath him. Arthur gazed at him, pained at the idea of him spending his evenings and weekends alone. He scratched his head.

“Do you fancy coming to the pub with me?” Merlin turned around again, an odd expression on his face but the tips of his ears turning a telling red. Arthur put up his hands, horrified. “Oh god, no, please don’t think I’m asking you on a … well … no. We work together, that would be totally inappropriate, and out of line, I’m your boss, and I would never put you in that position. I’m just meeting my friends there, and thought maybe I could introduce you to some people?” Arthur cursed himself and tried not to turn purple as he carried on packing up. He didn’t notice Merlin smiling at him softly.

“Yeah, I’d love to, thanks,” he said a little gruffly, swinging his seat round and switching off his computer.

 

By the time they got to the pub it was nearly 9pm, and everyone was already pretty drunk. Arthur made his way over to the table, Merlin following and leaving a path of destruction behind him.

“Arthur! You’re still alive! How lovely!” Morgana jumped up and gave her big brother a big hug; Arthur squeezed her back.

“Last one in buys the next four rounds!” Gwaine yelled, slamming his near-empty pint glass on the table.

“You just made that rule up,” Arthur said pointedly, depositing his coat and bag on an empty seat, and making room for Merlin. “Everyone this is my new Editorial Assistant, Merlin. Merlin, this is Gwen, your predecessor and my first love, before I realised that I did in fact, prefer men, this is her husband Lance, my second love, before _he_ realised, that he did in fact, prefer women - he and Gwen are now married and Gwen is about to produce their fourth child - this Irish scoundrel is Gwaine, and it’s best you avoid him entirely if you value your liver, this handsome chap is Leon, my oldest friend and brother in law, married to my sister Morgana, that harpy over there who looks like a witch, and that there is Elena, wife of Gwaine.” Elena was passed out with her head on Leon’s lap.

“She’s a good girl,” said Gwaine fondly, “always up for trying to drink us all under the table.”

“And always ends up _under_ the table,” Lance jested good-naturedly. Merlin laughed and gave everyone a little wave.

“Well you all seem mad, which is a good start,” he said grinning. “How about the stranger to the group buys the next round?” Arthur tried to protest but Gwaine whooped.

“Oh I like him! We’re going to be great pals, I can tell. Do you mind if I call you Mezza? Can’t abide proper names. This one’s Princess,” he said, pointing a thumb at Arthur. Merlin raised an eyebrow.

“He does have very golden hair,” he said observationally. Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. Merlin had the grace to look shamefaced and shuffled to the bar after taking everyone’s order.

“He’s lovely, Arthur,” Gwen said with a warm smile. Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Let’s kill the elephant now folks. I’m his boss. I’m nineteen years older than him. I’m not sleeping with him. He happens to be incredibly clever and one of the most extraordinary people I’ve ever met, you lot included.”

“This is from the man with no heart?” Morgana said smugly. “You _really_ like him.”

“He’s pretty hot mate,” said Gwaine, checking out Merlin’s arse (which did look decidedly edible in the tight black jeans he’d worn to work today), “I’d definitely tap that.”

“Yes, but you’d tap _anything_ ,” Arthur said dismissively.

“Too true,” Morgana agreed, nodding sagely.

 

Five pints in and Merlin was decidedly tipsy. Lance and Gwen had gone home (Gwen was eight month’s pregnant after all), and Leon and Morgana had gone home to relieve their babysitter (for Arthur’s six-year old niece, Freya), but Gwaine and Merlin and Elena (having woken up feeling rested and ready to start again) had decided that clubbing was in order, given that it was Merlin’s first night out in London. Arthur objected strenuously, given that he hadn’t been in a club for a good 10 years, and so was very surprised to find that he’d been cajoled by Merlin (who was impossible to refuse with his eager puppy excitement for dancing) into joining them, and was now sitting in the booth of a very gay gay club. Gwaine had procured a tray of glowing shots, and after three or four, Merlin bounded gracelessly onto the dance floor. For someone who couldn’t coordinate his feet to _walk_ , Arthur was amazed to discover that Merlin could _dance_. He swayed his hips and put his arms in the air and undulated tantalisingly. Arthur felt suddenly hot. He was mesmerised by Merlin’s lean body, the sliver of pale skin exposed now that his shirt was untucked and riding up his back, his head thrown back and revealing a strong, corded neck. He was, truly, _beautiful_. Within minutes, a large man had appeared behind Merlin, pressing against him and running his hands down Merlin torso, stroking his cock. Merlin’s eyes flew open and he tried to pull away, but the man just squeezed him closer. Arthur stood up immediately and crossed the dance floor.

“You okay baby?” he said, sliding out a hand to Merlin’s waist. Big guy put his hands up and backed away.

“Didn’t know he was taken,” he said, and disappeared into the crowd.

“Because that would have been totally acceptable behaviour if you _weren’t_ taken, clearly,” Arthur said to Merlin, angrily. Merlin moved closer until their bodies were pressed together.

“ _Am_ I taken?” he breathed quietly, inches from Arthur’s face. Arthur took in his nervous blue eyes, the flush on his cheeks, the biting of his lip. He pressed a finger to the corner of his mouth. Merlin let out an almost silent moan and closed his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Arthur chided, softly stroking the bitten lip, “you’ll hurt yourself.” Now he was touching Merlin he found he didn’t want to stop. He stroked his cheek, his jawline, ran a thumb down his neck.

“ _Arthur,_ ” Merlin whispered again, urgently, “ _am I taken?”_ Arthur stepped back a little to look at Merlin properly.

“Do you want to be taken?” Arthur asked lightly. Merlin ran his fingers across Arthur’s broad chest and nodded.

“By you, yes.”

“You know I’m old enough to be your father?”

“Only if you were a teenage parent statistic.”

“How drunk are you?”

“Drunk enough to be brave. Sober enough to make decisions I won’t regret.”

“Your place or mine?” Arthur asked, voice lowered, body predatory now that it was in seduction mode, hand proprietarily caressing Merlin’s arse. 

“You live near here?” Merlin gasped, pressing his forehead into Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur smiled and stroked Merlin’s hair, curling around his ears.

“Five minute walk,” he whispered into Merlin’s neck, feeling Merlin shudder in his arms.

“Yours,” Merlin said, and Arthur pressed a light kiss to his forehead, far too relaxed from the alcohol to think about what a Bad Idea this was … it felt far too natural, far too easy. He took Merlin’s hand and led him from the floor. Gwaine and Elena were dirty dancing in a corner so Arthur bypassed them completely to get his and Merlin’s coats and bags from the cloakroom.

 

He held Merlin’s hand on the way back to his apartment, but they walked in comfortable silence. As soon as they were inside the front door, he pushed Merlin up against it and licked a slow stripe up Merlin’s neck. Merlin groaned and let his head drop back where it hit the door as Arthur ravaged his neck, sucking at it, biting it, delighting in every surprised and pained and desperately aroused gasp he drew from Merlin’s perfect, lush mouth. He gently nuzzled his soft ears, nibbling the lobes, and then he started unbuttoning Merlin’s shirt as he walked him back into his bedroom and proceeded to undress him quickly, pushing him onto the bed and crawling down his naked body until he was nestled between his lean, pale thighs, cock long and heavy in a nest of dark hair. Arthur’s mouth watered and he took Merlin down in one go, into his throat, grinning as Merlin shouted and arched off the bed, pushing down Arthur’s throat, hands gripping his hair, feet on Arthur’s shoulders, one calf rubbing against his back encouragingly. Arthur let his spit drip down past Merlin’s cock so that he could coat his fingers and trail them down, down until they circled Merlin’s hole. Merlin shouted again and came down Arthur’s throat in one long endless river of hot semen. Arthur drank him up and then flipped him over, aching to plough this young body, leaning over to his bedside drawer to grab a condom and some lube. He dropped them on the bed and then trailed his tongue down Merlin’s perfect, smooth back, down the crevice of his arse, feeling Merlin shaking beneath him as he let his tongue softly caress his hole, a tight pink bud, and Arthur nearly growled with need as he sucked it, bit it lightly, soothed it with licks and kisses, fucked his tongue into the tight ring of muscle to loosen it up, and cherishing the whimpers that Merlin was making, the endless groaning, head on his arms, eyes closed. Arthur grabbed the lube and coated his fingers, squeezing some more over Merlin’s hole, and carefully worked two fingers in, softly opening Merlin for himself. He crooked his fingers and felt Merlin jolt as he found his prostate and massaged it until Merlin was writhing and keening and dry-humping the bed again. Extracting his fingers Arthur stood up and quickly undressed, rolling on a condom and slicking it up. He moved over Merlin and pressed the tip of himself inside.

“Wait,” Merlin said, and Arthur stopped and kissed his shoulder, waiting. “Can we do this face to face? This way feels a bit like a meaningless fuck.” Arthur gently rolled him onto his back and lent down to kiss his lips for the first time, tongue pressing in and Merlin readily opening up for him, tongue pressing back earnestly, and Arthur kept kissing him as he lined himself up again and thrust himself inside in one single, hard movement. Merlin broke away from the kiss with a gasp, body arched from the bed, eyes wide and unseeing as Arthur took the opportunity to lick Merlin’s nipples, thrusting in and out in a slow, hard, punishing rhythm, fingers intwined with Merlin’s above his head, legs wrapped around Arthur’s waist, heels pushing into Arthur’s thighs. Merlin was shaking again and Arthur slowed down to kiss him, to kiss his temples.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he stroked his penis over Merlin’s prostate, drawing out, and screwing back in slowly. Merlin nodded jerkily, seemingly struggling to breathe. “Merlin?” Arthur whispered, moving carefully. “Look at me,” Merlin opened his eyes as Arthur ordered and Arthur saw shock there, and wonder, and … _pain_. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, alarmed, making to withdraw. Merlin shook his head and tilted his hips, closing his eyes, encouraging Arthur to keep going. Arthur took it more slowly, working Merlin’s cock with his hand until he’d coated his belly in spunk, and then Arthur released himself deep within Merlin’s body, feeling calmer and more complete than he had in years. He kissed Merlin gently as he withdrew and thew the condom into the bin by the bed. Merlin rolled into his side and Arthur gladly put his arms around him as he was still shaking, stroking his hair, his back until his breathing calmed. “What’s going on in that brilliant young mind of yours?” Arthur asked lightly, keeping his embrace secure. Merlin looked up at him.

“That was a little bit … well, it was sort of … um … that may have been ….” Alarmed, Arthur sat up.

“Merlin, you’re tripping over words now too,” he said slowly. Merlin flushed and blinked up at him. “Oh god - that wasn’t?” Arthur put his head in his hands and tried not to panic. “Was that your first time?” he said quietly into his palms. Merlin sat up and pulled his hands away from his eyes.

“Yes, Arthur. Don’t freak out, okay?” Arthur looked at him incredulously.

“I am literally a cliche at this point. A boss sleeping with his assistant. An early-forty something sleeping with an early-twenty something. A drunken hook-up. An accidental virginity removal. I have crossed so many lines at this point I can’t even count them. Not to mention the fact that I do actually care about you and I wish your first time had been with someone special, or at least not part of a terrible cliche. And you don’t want me to ‘freak out’? You should have told me.” Merlin lay down and put a hand on Arthur’s back.

“Not to freak you out even more, you enormous condescending pillock, but you _are_ someone special to me. If you want this to be a drunken hook-up I accept that. But otherwise I’d like to maybe do it officially next time. After a _date_. The awful ‘d’ word.” Arthur rolled over him and saw how tender his face was, sincere and genuine, and extraordinarily lovely, bracing himself for refusal.

“You know if we date and we hate each other it’s going to make work unbearable.” Merlin looked at him in amusement.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you,” he said gently.

“Nor I you,” Arthur said immediately. Merlin smiled adorably, dimples on full show. “How about the age difference?” Arthur asked, stroking Merlin’s hair. Merlin wriggled comfortably beneath him, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck.

“What on _earth_ does that matter?”

“I remember my early twenties Merlin,” Arthur said darkly. “Experimentation. Oat-sowing. You need do those things.”

“Why can’t I do them with you? Sounds like you could probably teach me.” Merlin grinned at him impishly and Arthur groaned until his head was resting against Merlin’s heart.

“I think my friends knew, this evening” Arthur muttered, circling Merlin’s nipple with his forefinger and loving the feeling of Merlin squirming in response, his hands lightly rubbing Arthur’s shoulders.

“Hmm?” he murmured noncommittally.

“They knew I’d fallen a bit head over heels for you. I _never_ introduce my work colleagues to my friends. I think I sort of imprinted on you when you walked into my office for your interview.” Merlin laughed.

“And me for _you_ when you rudely asked me if I’d ‘ _actually’_ tripped over my own feet.” Arthur smiled at the memory and kissed him.

“Okay then, we’ll give this a go. But let’s take things _slowly_ Merlin, please?”

 

*

 

_Mid December_

 

Three weeks later and Arthur and Merlin had spent every single night together, switching between each other’s houses. At Merlin’s they ate baked beans on toast and snuggled together under a blanket on the sofa and ate popcorn, lightly tangling tongues, giving each other slow, languid blowjobs, spooning each other snugly on Merlin’s small double bed, always stroking, caressing, touching, fingers and limbs entangled. At Arthur’s they cooked, played board games, read manuscripts together, gave each other foot massages (which inevitably turned into full body massages, and then either vigorous fucking, or intense lovemaking), shared their private memories and dreams and stories with each other in hot baths, rimmed each other in steamy showers … Arthur knew Merlin’s body so well now he could draw a map, commit its contours to paper by fingers, cock or tongue, given that each had carefully explored and traced and memorised the geography of his lover.

It was a Sunday evening and Merlin was lying with his head in Arthur’s lap, reading a manuscript as Arthur watched the evening news. Flinging it aside with a huff, he crawled into Arthur’s lap and nudged his face with his nose.

“Yes _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said in his long-suffering-but-I-adore-you voice. Merlin kissed him lightly on the lips.

“I just realised, this very moment, that I’m completely, deeply in love with you,” Merlin said matter of factly. “I thought you might like to know.” Arthur switched off the TV, caressing Merlin’s dear face tenderly.

“I’m completely, deeply, _irrevocably_ in love with you too. Come to bed so I can show you.”

Arthur buried himself deep inside Merlin, rocking their bodies together, their tongues caressing each other, their legs entwined, arms wrapped around each other, fingers stroking, taking it slowly, more for closeness than for pleasure, Arthur playing with the foreskin of Merlin’s penis, rubbing the pre-come into his soft belly, nosing at his delectable ears. “Move in with me?” Arthur whispered into his neck, sliding back inside and making sure that the spongy head of his naked cock kissed Merlin’s prostate (Arthur knew he was clean and so they’d gone bareback after a week). Merlin sighed and tilted his hips up, moving in a wavelike rhythm with Arthur.

“Only if you promise never to make me match my socks.” Arthur snorted. “Oh and you can’t cut up my Harry Potter ties. Or kill my plant.”

“It’s a plastic cactus you idiot,” Arthur murmured devotedly as he withdrew again, sucking a bruise into Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin groaned and pressed Arthur’s head closer to his body, down towards his nipples, where Arthur obliged by licking and nipping and sucking at them softly.

“Nnngghh,” Merlin said, losing the ability to be coherent as he started to unravel beneath Arthur, “ _god_ , _Arthur, ahhh, that’s it, Arthur, god I love you, I love you_ ”

“I love you more,” Arthur whispered back in return, again and again, until Merlin exploded into molten gold beneath him, boneless and pliant and sated and in love.

An hour later they made love again, this time with Merlin riding Arthur, sitting above him tall and proud, hands pressed to Arthur’s chest, his heart, totally in control, taking what he needed from his lover.

 

*

 

_5 days to Christmas_

 

Christmas was fast approaching. Merlin had decorated their office haphazardly, strewing tinsel over their desks and placing a motion-censored dancing, singing Christmas tree on the pile of manuscripts on his desk. Every time Arthur opened the door it cranked into life, wobbling round in circles as it sang _I’m the happiest Christmas tree, ho ho ho, he he he, I’ll be dancing merrily, with a ho ho ho he he!!_ The first time it was cute, but now he glared at Merlin pointedly.

“I’m getting a headache Merlin.” Merlin made his big round _sorry Arthur_ eyes and wrapped his scarf around the tree so nothing could trigger its sensor. Arthur peered at Merlin over his desk. “Have you got icing sugar on your chin?” Merlin hastily wiped a hand across his face, but that just smeared the powder further. Arthur rolled his eyes and perched at the edge of Merlin’s desk, leaning down to kiss his chin and lick away the sugar.

“Mmm,” Merlin said closing his eyes appreciatively, “it must be from the mince pies. Or the stollen, maybe? Your dad sent a basket.” He gestured towards Arthur’s desk where a Fortnum & Mason’s picnic hamper stood open on the floor, rubbing his cheek against Arthur’s chest like an affectionate cat, positively purring. “My mum asked if you’ll spend Christmas with us, _again_. She wants to meet you.” Merlin’s mother had been inviting Arthur for Christmas since Merlin had confessed that he’d fallen in love with his boss, but Arthur had avoided giving a response thus far. Uther and Helen (Arthur’s stepmother), would be in the family estate in Surrey with Morgana and Leon and Freya. He was invited to join, as always, and quite frankly felt like spending some time with his sister and best friend and niece anyway, who he didn’t see nearly enough. But he knew this was important to Merlin. He’d met all Arthur’s friends and family - including a surprisingly easy supper with Uther and Helen at their Chelsea flat - and he wanted to make Arthur part of his too. Arthur hadn’t ever done the meeting the parents thing … not since Gwen. He’d kept his relationships casual so that he could concentrate on work. Merlin pulled away and turned back to his computer, drafting individual emails to the latest list of rejected authors with painstaking and constructive feedback. “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he mumbled, and Arthur could tell that his reticence had hurt him. He opened his mouth to say that he _did_ want to, he just wasn’t very good at Meet the Parents, when there was a knock at the door, and a handsomely boyish grinning face appeared round the side.

“Mordred!” Arthur said, surprised, making his way through Merlin’s maze of paper to the door and hugging the younger man. Mordred was a 27 year old artist who Arthur had met at the pub in Avalon (the village his family home was in) some four years previously, and they had struck up a passionate if short-lived affair. Afterwards they’d remained good friends (Arthur was good at remaining friends with his exes). “What brings you to London?” Mordred shuffled awkwardly and looked up at Arthur from beneath dark eyelashes.

“Um - I actually have an exhibition here at the moment - at the Firenze Gallery in Soho? But I’m heading back to Avalon in a couple of days for Christmas. I thought we might travel together, catch up? Unless you’re free beforehand - you could come to the gallery, maybe grab a drink afterwards?” Arthur glanced in Merlin’s direction. He kept his head bowed, typing quietly.

“I’d love to see your exhibition, and I certainly owe you a celebratory drink! But I’m afraid I’m spending Christmas with my boyfriend in Wales this year. Merlin?” Merlin looked up, and grinned, although it didn’t reach his eyes. He stood up and walked round to stand by Arthur’s side, holding out a hand to Mordred. Mordred glanced down at the figgy pudding socked feet and let his piercing gaze run up Merlin’s body, taking in the red Christmas sweater and the icing sugar smears on his dark trousers. Merlin reddened, noticing Mordred’s much sexier black jeans, cashmere jumper, and leather jacket. Mordred raised an eyebrow but shook Merlin’s hand.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, smiling winningly before returning his attention to Arthur, “pity you won’t be in Surrey for the holidays, I’d come to regard strip poker and whisky sours as a tradition. Arthur’s _useless_ ,” he added for Merlin’s benefit, “although always fun to look at once naked.” His lips quirked in a private smile for Arthur, and Arthur felt Merlin tense beside him. He slipped an arm round his waist, squeezing slightly, hoping to reassure him.

“I’m sure it won’t be hard to find a more skilled partner, Mordred,” Arthur said easily, trying to diffuse the tension in the room. Mordred shrugged noncommittally, and pulled a VIP invitation out of his jacket.

“Well come along, the both of you, if you have a free evening.” Mordred leant forward to give Arthur a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and patted Merlin on the arm. “See you round, Arthur.” Once the door was closed Arthur turned to Merlin worriedly, pulling him against his chest and slipping his hands under Merlin’s jumper to stroke soothing circles against his skin.

“You’ve slept with him,” Merlin said expressionlessly, standing very still. Arthur kissed his head and nodded. Merlin took a deep breath and looked at Arthur. “More than once.” It wasn’t a question, but Arthur nodded again.

“We were together on and off for a couple of years. He’s just a friend now.” Merlin closed his eyes and took a step back, giving Arthur a small smile.

“Okay,” he said simply, going back to his desk and resuming his typing. Arthur went and sat on the table beside him, placing his hand on Merlin’s wrist to stop him.

“Will you tell your mum that I’d love to come for Christmas?” he asked quietly. Merlin fiddled with a biro, and eventually shook his head.

“No, Arthur. You only agreed to come because you felt uncomfortable with Mordred here. Not because you want to meet her, or because you want to see my home, or because it’s important to you to spend it with me. Like I said, that’s okay. Another time maybe.” Arthur shook his head and hauled Merlin to his feet, leading him over to his much larger desk chair, where there was room for Merlin to sit on his lap. He pulled him down, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his lips close to Merlin’s ear.

“I absolutely want to meet your mother,” he murmured softly. “And Will. And to see the infamous walls of books. And the cave you slayed dragons in when you were nine. And your baby photos. And I more than absolutely want to spend Christmas with _you_. My only hesitation was that spending Christmas together is important to my family too, and I don’t see enough of them as it is. And also, I’m a bit worried your mum won’t approve of us once she meets me. I’m _41_ Merlin - you’re fresh out of university. And in the last two months we’ve fallen in love, moved in together, it’s all happened so quickly … and it’s perfect, and I wouldn’t change it … but what must it look like from an outsider’s perspective? My family and friends _know_ how unusual this is for me, how much you matter. But to _your_ friends and family, I might be perceived as a boss taking advantage of his younger employee. I don’t want their opinion to ruin what we have. They’ll be more likely to accept it’s not going to end in disaster - and me - once we’ve been together longer and proved that we’re serious about each other.”

“My mum’s already accepted that you make me happy.” Merlin said, still sounding strangely distant. “I don’t need to prove anything to her. But maybe you need to prove that you’re serious about me to yourself? You were with Gwen for two years. Lance for a year. Mordred for two, apparently. We’ve only been together for a month. Really I might be nothing but another flash in the pan.”

“No!” Arthur said, horrified, kissing Merlin’s neck and shaking him. “I’m serious about you. Merlin, sweetheart, look at me, please.” Merlin raised wary eyes to Arthur’s. “I am _madly_ in love with you. I’m in love with your socks and your stains and your ridiculous ears and the smell of your skin and the taste of your tongue and being inside your body. I’m in love with your mind and the way you talk in stories. You make me happier than I’ve ever been. Being with you feels like coming home. No-one compares to you Merlin. _No-one_. You have nothing to be jealous of or worried about,” he said, guessing that it was Mordred’s appearance to have caused Merlin’s insecurity, and pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. Merlin suddenly wrapped both arms around Arthur’s neck, fingers carding in Arthur’s hair, capturing his mouth hungrily, needily, tongue hot and insistent, desperately claiming Arthur’s mouth. Arthur kissed him back deeply, sliding a hand to Merlin’s crotch, undoing his zip, and stroking his soft cock into wet hardness, pulling at him slowly, methodically, swallowing Merlin’s groans, absorbing his shudders as he climaxed silently with his face tucked between Arthur’s neck and shoulder.

“Prat,” Merlin said rolling his eyes, “a hug would have done it. Now I’m covered in semen as well as sugar; I’m a sticky mess!”

“Are you a sticky mess who loves me?” Arthur said with a playful nudge. Merlin grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on Arthur’s desk.

“Clean me up,” he ordered, stuffing the tissues into Arthur’s hand. He watched Arthur with soft eyes as Arthur carefully wiped his stomach, his jumper, the tops of his trousers, zipping him up, discarding the waste, and licking the residual cum off his fingers. “Yes, I love you, Arthur,” he said with a smile.

“Will you tell your mum that I’d love to come for Christmas _now_?” Arthur grinned.

“Fine, if you’re so _desperate_ ,” Merlin said haughtily, climbing off Arthur’s lap and kneeling on the floor before him. Arthur’s eyes widened as Merlin returned the favour, unzipping him and taking his cock into his hot, wet, soft mouth, sucking him down with his eyes closed, face utterly relaxed, concentrated on his task, and as Merlin moved his lips and tongue up and down Arthur’s shaft, Arthur cradled his head, fingers in his lover’s dark curls, tipping his head back and letting pleasure and love wash over him like honey; heavy and sweet. 

 

 


End file.
